Memory
by nevverlands
Summary: A few years after Dean and Sam stopped hunting and went separate ways, a man that looks like Cas shows up in Dean's hometown without his memory. Convinced that the man is Castiel, Dean won't rest until he gets his memory back. Dean/Cas, Destiel, slash
1. Wrong Place

**A/N:** This is my first SPN story, so just be warned. I've loved Destiel for so long, I don't know why I haven't written anything for them yet. But now that Misha is officially coming back (soon!) I now have something to write for. Enjoy!

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><p>The first thought that entered Dean's head upon waking up that morning was that he was out of cereal.<p>

Dean didn't make a habit of going grocery shopping. He didn't even have a semblance of normal meal times - when Dean was hungry, he ate. When he wasn't, he didn't. They were plenty of food places in Lawrence, Kansas that were within a five mile radius of Dean's house, and it didn't take very much for him to get in his truck and drive to one of those restaurants and eat. He didn't keep much food in the house, but one thing he usually had was cereal. It was a fast way to get rid of the stomach pangs of hunger that Dean usually encountered each morning. When Dean woke up, the covers drawn halfway up his bare torso and his legs tangled in the sheets, his stomach was already aching. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to skip dinner the night before, but he didn't like driving at night anymore. Too many, well…life-threatening memories. So Dean hadn't eaten, instead sitting on his couch and watching some trashy television show as he started to drift off, trying to ignore the hollowness in his gut that had nothing to do with hunger.

Eventually, the lack of nutrition caught up to him, and Dean found himself groaning at the realization that he had no food in the house. He hadn't gone shopping in weeks. Dean figured he might as well head to the store in downtown Lawrence and grab a few things, but a larger part of him just wanted something to eat now. Dean got out of bed, pushing the covers off of him as he threw on a shirt and some jeans. He walked out of his bedroom, stopping in the small kitchen to double check the cereal box sitting on his counter. Nope. Empty. Dean sighed and grabbed the keys to his truck off of the top of the fridge before venturing out into the early morning, Lawrence sun.

The truck was green and covered in cracked paint - Dean had bought it for a few hundred bucks when he arrived in Lawrence several years ago. The impala was still in working order, perched underneath a tan sheet in Dean's dirt driveway, but whenever Dean looked at it, it brought a tight twisting in his core that threatened to bring back years of pain and destructive memories Dean had tried to push down for too long. So it sat idle in his driveway, never to be touched, let alone ridden, again. Dean cast it a long look before getting in his truck and driving towards the main road near his house.

After Dean and Sam had gotten rid of the Leviathans nearly two years ago, they had gone their separate ways. They had both had enough - losing Bobby had taken a serious toll on both of them. Sam moved back to California, finding a way back into law school and falling in love with some grad student while there. Dean had been the best man at Sam's wedding, but he hadn't seen his brother since. That had been a year ago. Dean found his way back to Lawrence, purchasing a small, one floor house on the outskirts of the town. He lived alone, making money by fixing up cars from all over the town. It was an unofficial business, but Dean made all the money he needed by helping out people with car troubles all around Lawrence and surrounding towns. He had given up hunting for good, although there was still a gun in Dean's nightstand, loaded and ready to be used if necessary. The rest of his hunting stuff had been locked away under the floorboards of his living room. The impala in the driveway, Bobby's hat hanging off of a nail sticking out of the wall in the kitchen, and Castiel's coat hanging in the hall closet was all Dean had left of his previous life. Even those items were untouched, just ghosts hanging in the background of Dean's dull, domestic life.

Dean drove for a little while until he reached downtown Lawrence. His mind was begging him to stop at the grocery store and pick up a few things, but his stomach took him to the Lawrence Cafe, a little breakfast place right in the center of town. Dean parked his truck outside before walking over to the cafe. As he reached the door, a man walked out, his head ducked as he reached for something in his long, tan coat. Dean did a double take, his heart pounding and his stomach dropping for a few moments before he realized that the man had blonde hair, not brown. Dean sighed. It wasn't the first time Dean was shaken by someone wearing a trench coat on the street. It seemed like every time he went somewhere, there was always some remnant of his past that he'd run into. Whether it was a guy with extremely light brown eyes that were almost yellow, or somebody wearing a tan coat, Dean always jumped, staring at the person until he convinced himself that it wasn't somebody he knew. Still, it sent courses of shocks running through Dean, and he let out a shaky breath before sidling by the guy and walking into the cafe.

It was busy for early in the morning. The booths and tables were full of people, and Dean was lucky to find an empty seat at the cafe bar. He ordered a coffee, perusing the menu while a large, balding man sitting at the bar glanced over at him.

"Dean Winchester," the man said in a rumbling, low voice. Dean looked up, meeting the man's gaze. "You owe me money, boy."

"I don't owe you shit," Dean replied, looking back down at his menu disinterestedly. The man's name was Thompson. Dean remembered fixing his Ford Galaxie 500 nearly three months ago. The car was nice, and Dean had a good time fixing the interior, which had been ripped in several places. Dean had gotten a couple hundred for the job by Thompson, but the idiot sat on his keys while he got in the car, ripping the seams of the front seat cleanly. The man had turned purple and started screaming at Dean for his "waste of money, piss poor job", which Dean tuned out and told him to hit the road. It wasn't Dean's fault the man was a fucking moron.

Thompson leaned over, fixing Dean with a crude glare. "You might not want to mess with me, Winchester," he said, his eyes sharp. "I've been known to be pretty pestering when I don't get what I'm owed."

"Yeah, alright then," Dean said, not even looking at the man as he waved over a waitress. "I guess I'll be watching my back then." When the waitress came over, he ordered a stack of pancakes for himself, his stomach grumbling in appreciation. Thompson leaned back, but he kept his ugly eyes on Dean as the former hunter enjoyed his breakfast.

A few minutes later, one of the waitresses came sidling up to Dean with a big smile on her face. She wore a black shirt that stretched over her busty chest nicely, and Dean couldn't help but give it a look as she sat on the stool next to him. She was blonde, blue eyed and giving Dean a very hungry look. "Hi, Dean," she said. Dean glanced at her name tag.

"Hey Kate," he greeted, straining to remember if he should know who she is or not. When Kate leaned forward and put her hand on his leg, he realized he probably should.

"You haven't been in here in awhile," Kate pouted, sticking out her lower lip. Dean shrugged, taking a bite of his pancake.

"I've been busy," Dean told her, which wasn't a complete lie. He had three cars he had to work on back home. One of them was a nice Chevy from the fifties, and he was waiting on some parts he had ordered online a week ago. Dean started thinking about the car's exterior as Kate slid her hand up his leg. Dean tensed a little, but he didn't push her off. He knew he should probably remember her a little better. He was guessing she was some waitress he had flirted with some time ago, and she was taking it a little more seriously than him. He was okay with it, though. She had nice tits.

Kate tilted her head, giving Dean a little smirk. "I'd be busy too, if I had muscles like yours," she said, squeezing one of his legs. "You must work out a ton to have such defined leg muscles."

"Well, actually," Dean said, leaning in a little, "I got them by kicking a lot of demon's asses. And ghosts. You'd think that ghosts wouldn't be too hard to fight, because they're dead and everything, but nah, they're a bitch. I haven't had a good fight with one of them in awhile, though, so I'm lucky I still got my muscles."

Kate stared at him blankly for a few moments. Dean snickered to himself. That ought to get her away. But instead, the girl burst out into bits of fake laughter. "Oh my God, Dean, you're _so_ fucking funny."

Dean grimaced. She hadn't reacted the way he had expected (or hoped). Dean tried to ignore her as she ran her hands all over his legs, eating his pancakes as fast as he could so he could get the hell out of the cafe. The door to the restaurant opened from behind them, and Kate's attention was drawn from Dean as she laid eyes on the person who had just entered. "What the hell? That guy looks like he just crawled out of a grave."

Dean's interest spiked, and he turned from the slutty waitress, laying eyes on the man who had just came in the cafe. He was leaning across the counter, speaking in a fast voice to one of the waiters.

"-if you could just let me use your phone," the man was saying. Dean couldn't see his face, but the dude was covered from head to toe in dirt. His dark hair was powdered in dust, his clothes were torn and his shoes were unlaced. The waiter gave the man a scolding look.

"Listen, guy, you need to leave this restaurant immediately. I won't have someone as filthy as you mucking up my floors."

The man groaned in exasperation. "Please! I need to use the phone, I need to call-"

"Who? Who do you need to call?"

"I…" the man stopped, leaning back. "I…uh. I don't know." Dean raised an eyebrow, confused. He wondered what the guy's deal was. The waiter certainly was wondering the same thing, but he wasn't as interested as Dean.

"You need to leave, or _I'm_ going to make a call. To the police," the waiter said. The man back away from the counter, turning so Dean could see his worn face. Dean's breath left his body, his insides turning cold. The fork in his hand dropped to the floor, making a loud, clattering sound. The man looked up, his eyes finding Dean's.

"Dean," Kate was saying from behind him, tugging on his arm. "Dean, what's-"

"Cas," Dean whispered. He stood, the pretty waitress forgotten. The man before him frowned. Dean took a few steps closer until he was directly in front of the dirt covered man.

It was Castiel; it had to be. Even underneath all that dirt, Dean knew it was him. His deep blue eyes, his ruffled dark hair, his face…Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing. His head felt light, and Dean dizzily reached over to put a hand on Cas's shoulder. The man winced, taking a step back.

"Do I know you?" the man said, giving Dean a strange look. Dean was barely listening, although the man's familiar deep voice brought a tug in Dean's stomach. He was trying to work out what he was seeing, what was going on. He brought back the memory of so long ago, the memory of his best friend gliding under the surface of the water of that lake, his coat washing up to shore. Cas had died. He had betrayed them, and he had died. Castiel was dead.

So how could he be standing right in front of Dean, in Lawrence, Kansas, covered in dirt and without an ounce of recognition on his face?

The man spoke again, this time rather roughly. "Do you know who I am?" He looked lost, very troubled as he neared Dean. His eyes were strained as he surveyed Dean. "Please tell me you know who I am."

With that, Cas swayed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell forward. Dean spotted it before it happened and extended his arms, catching Cas as he fainted into Dean's chest. Dean was still in shock, his legs wobbling from under Cas's weight. He grunted, wrapping an arm around Cas's waist to keep him upright. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew he had to get Cas back to his house. He had to get him cleaned up, and then...he had to call Sam.

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><p>"Dean? Are you alright?"<p>

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Sammy. Well, uh…maybe not. I don't really know."

"Dean…what is it? What's wrong?" Sam paused, then, "Is it a demon? A monster? Oh, God, it's not another Leviathan is it-"

"No! No, I mean…I don't know. Sam, you need to get down here."

"You need to tell me what the hell is going on. You're freaking me out."

"It's Cas."

"What?"

"Cas. He's back, Sam."

There was silence on the other line. Dean rubbed his face impatiently, waiting for his brother to respond. After fifteen seconds of silence (Dean counted), Dean groaned, "Sam. You there?"

"I…yeah, I'm here."

"So yeah, you need to get down to Kansas. Like, right now. Please."

"Dean…"

"Please, Sammy. I need you."

There was another pause. Sam was breathing heavily on the other line. Then, "Dean, do you know how many times you've called me in the past two years, saying you've found Cas, or Bobby, or Jo, or whoever?"

"This isn't like that, Sam. I didn't just see Cas. He's here, on my couch."

"Can I talk to him?"

"He's sleeping. He came running into a cafe I was in this morning, covered in dirt. He has no idea who he is. He's got, uh, anamesia or something…"

"Amnesia."

"Yeah, that!" Dean cried, looking over at the couch. Cas was clean now, after Dean had hosed him down in the back yard. He had waken up from his faint after a few minutes, giving Dean enough time to get him a change of clothes and letting Cas dry. After he was finished, Cas passed out on Dean's couch without another word. Dean watched him sleep, his eyelids flickering a little as he breathed out of parted lips.

Sam had begun to speak again. "Dean, you don't know if that's actually Cas. It could be someone who looks like him-"

"Someone who looks exactly like him? Someone who sounds like him, talks like him, moves like him? That seems a little far-fetched, Sam."

"No, what sounds far-fetched is that our friend, who died more than two years ago, is currently sleeping in your house, without knowing who he is. Damn it, Dean, I thought you were going to see someone about this."

"I'm not hallucinating, Sam," Dean snapped, slamming his fist on the table. "I don't need to see some goddamn therapist, either. It's not like it would help."

"You don't know that."

"I do fucking know that," Dean countered. "And what, you don't need to see someone? You're just as fucked up as I am, Sam, even if your Stanford barbie doesn't know it."

"Don't bring Jennifer into this," Sam warned. "I've worked so hard to keep all this from her. She doesn't need to know about any of it."

"I thought you loved her, Sam. Aren't you not supposed to keep secrets from the ones you love?"

"Fuck you, Dean. You don't know shit," Sam said angrily, "I'm happy here, being normal, having a normal life. I like having a wife, a bed to come home to instead of living out of the impala or going to shitty motels and getting my ass handed to me by supernatural creatures. Maybe that's not for you, but it's for me. So don't try and make me feel guilty or trick me back into my old life just because you're bored with yours. I'm done."

Dean sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "It's not like that, Sam. I just need help. Not professional help," he amended, "but I need you here. If this is actually Cas-"

"It's not Cas, Dean."

"You don't know that! You haven't even seen him, for fuck's sake!"

"I don't need to!" Sam shouted, swearing. "God, Dean, listen to yourself. Even if you do actually have someone that looks like Cas on your couch, what makes you think it's actually Castiel? It could be a demon. Or a Leviathan. It's more likely its Jimmy than Cas, Dean. You know that. You heard the Leviathan. Cas is dead."

"That's why I need you. I need you to help me figure this out."

Sam let out a breath. "I can't. It's not my life anymore. You're on your own. I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't say anything. He couldn't believe Sam was just going to ignore this. He was angry, but he was more hurt than anything. Dean just watched Cas, the phone loosening in his hand.

Sam was moving something on the other line. "Listen, I have to go. Jennifer is awake and we're going to a movie."

"Yeah."

"Dean…" Sam said softly, and Dean felt his stomach tighten. "I love you."

Dean hung up.

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><p>It was a few hours later when Cas finally woke up. Dean had been sitting at his kitchen table, watching him dutifully, afraid he might disappear if Dean stopped looking at him for too long. Cas stretched, sitting up on the couch and yawning as he reached his arms over his head. When he caught sight of Dean, his arms lowered, and he flushed.<p>

"I'm sorry about falling asleep," Cas said, speaking quietly. "It was a long night."

"Don't worry about it," Dean assured him, getting up and standing in front of the couch, his hands spread out of his upper thighs nervously. "Would you mind telling me what happened?"

Cas shrugged, lifting the blanket off of him and placing it on the couch beside him. He then stood, looking around. "Do you have a bathroom?"

"Down the hall, at the end." Dean said, a little agitated. Was it too much to ask for a few answers? He had been waiting all fucking day for Cas to wake up so he could find out the truth, and here Cas was, making up excuses like going to the bathroom. Couldn't he hold it? Cas gave Dean a small smile before disappearing into the hallway. Dean waited for him, drumming his fingers on his legs impatiently. When Cas returned, Dean straightened, waiting for him to sit back down on the couch before asking him again, "So, what happened?"

But Cas didn't seem to hear him. "You don't happen to have any water bottles around here, do you? I'm parched."

Dean let out a frustrated groan while he went to his fridge, reached into for a water and chucked one in Cas's general direction. Cas caught it, a little taken aback. Dean went back to the living room, this time standing right in front of the couch. "Come on, Cas, tell me what happened before I blow my brains out in anticipation, 'cause right now you're giving me enough reasons to."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't know me? You keep calling me Cas," he said, confused. Dean realized his mistake, and tried to fix it.

"Oh, I just, uh…you look like someone I used to know, that's all," Dean said, flustered. Cas still looking bemused, but he accepted Dean's reasoning. Dean clapped his hands together, giving Cas a look that indicated he was done waiting. "So?"

Cas took a sip of water before setting the bottle down, drawing back and looking Dean in the eyes. "I woke up on the side of the road, not far from here. I had no idea how I got there or who I was, only that I felt terrible and like I had woken up from a really long night's sleep," Cas said, looking down at his lap. "It was horrible," he said quietly, sighing. "It was the worst feeling in the world."

"Trust me, there's a lot worse feelings out there," Dean said dryly, causing Cas to give him another strange look. Dean waved it aside. "So you woke up alone on the side of the road. So, what, you walked all the way back to Lawrence? How did you get so dirty?"

"I don't know," Cas muttered, shrugging. "It just all kind of…happened."

Dean nodded, scratching the back of his neck. He had been hoping for something a little more strange, something he could look into for supernatural reasons, but Cas's story was bare and vague. Dean wondered if Cas could possibly be holding out on him, but the guy looked positively stumped. Dean sighed.

"Anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

Cas shook his head, but then he stopped. "I knew I had to get to Lawrence and make a call," Cas said slowly, looking up at Dean. Dean felt his heart twinge as Cas's familiar, deep blue eyes stared at him so much like they used to when they hunted together. "I didn't know who I was calling, but it was like I needed to get to that cafe, no matter what," Cas said. Dean took a deep breath, his green eyes surveying Cas closely. Cas looked away, taking another sip of his water. He was wearing one of Dean's long sleeved shirts, the white making his skin look translucent. It was a little big on him, and when Cas stood, the shirt hung loosely over his small waist.

"Thank you for helping me out, er…" Cas struggled.

"Dean."

"Dean," Cas said warmly, sticking out his hand. Dean took it, feeling his heart race in his chest. He couldn't let Cas get away. He couldn't let him leave. Whatever happened, Dean had to figure out if Cas was still there somewhere.

"Listen…" Dean started, letting go of Cas's soft hand. "I don't think you should be going anywhere for a little while. You don't know who you are, so I can't imagine you have anywhere you really need to go, right?"

Cas nodded. Dean continued. "Why don't you stay here? I have a spare bedroom down the hall, and you can stay there until you figure something out. Its the least I can do," Dean said, praying Cas would accept his proposition.

Cas seemed to be contemplating. "I really don't want to intrude on you, Dean. You've already shown me an immense amount of kindness." His blue eyes were soft, and Dean had to force himself to look away from the familiarity, his gut clenching a little.

"Please. I insist," Dean nearly begged. Cas watched him for a moment, then nodded.

"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head a little. Dean couldn't help but reach out and put a hand on Cas's shoulder. This time, Cas didn't back away. They stayed like that for a few moments, until Cas raised his head. Dean stepped back, flushing a bit as he walked towards the kitchen to grab a beer.

"So, you should probably think of a name for yourself until we find out who you actually are," Dean said, twisting off the beer cap as he took a large swig. Cas smiled a bit.

"Well, since you're already accustomed to calling me 'Cas', I suppose that can be my name for now," Cas said, sitting down at the table. Dean sat across from him, nodding but suppressed a smirk. He had been counting on that. It was like they had taken the first step in accepting that Cas was actually Castiel, even if Cas didn't know it.

Dean smiled. "Cool. Nice to meet you, Cas," Dean said, raising his beer.

Cas reciprocated, raising his water. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Dean raised the beer to his lips, sucking it down, feeling more hopeful now that he had in the past three years. He watched Cas drink his water, happiness bubbling in his core. If this guy ended up being Castiel, Dean wouldn't even be able to describe how happy he'd be. If he wasn't, well…Dean didn't want to quite think of that possibility just yet.


	2. Out of Turn

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews and all the favorites/alerts, guys! Feedback is always appreciated. :)

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><p>Cas stayed in the guest room for a few nights, but Dean hardly saw him at all. He was behind on his work, and the cars wouldn't repair themselves. As much as Dean wanted to just sit Cas down and find some way to jog his memory, he couldn't leave the cars unattended. So Dean worked steadily, fixing a Ford Fusion with a dented bumper while Cas made himself welcome in Dean's home. Cas didn't do much; he was a man without a motive, and it made Dean queasy to think of what it'd be like to be dropped in the middle of nowhere with no clue who you were or what happened to you. Whenever Dean saw Cas in between working on the cars and sleeping, Cas was sitting at the kitchen table, poured over some book he had managed to find somewhere in Dean's house. Dean didn't even know he had any books, but Cas seemed to always be reading something new whenever Dean saw him.<p>

When he asked Cas what he was doing, Cas replied, "I'm hoping that I've read one of these books before, that way it'll look familiar to me now that I'm reading it again. Maybe it'll even bring back memories of what I was doing the first time I read it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wow. That's, uh…smart. Really smart, actually."

Cas looked up, meeting Dean's eyes as he smiled broadly. "Well, maybe I was a genius in my past life," he said, looking back down at the book. Dean found himself grinning back, watching Cas fondly until he remembered himself. It was just odd, seeing Cas smile and happy for once. The Castiel he remembered was always sullen, unamused and serious. It was a nice change, but it still reminded Dean of the possibility that this Cas wasn't his Cas. So Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and left Cas alone, trying to fill his mind with automobiles as he desperately avoided all thoughts of Cas.

Dean had encountered so many strange things in his life that it seemed only natural to be associating with the doppelganger of his dead best friend. As Dean tried to bust out the dent in the Fusion, he thought of Castiel for the first time in what felt like years. Sure, Cas fled into his mind all of the time, especially due to recent events. However, Dean had pushed any real feelings or memories of the angel out of his mind. They hadn't left things well when Cas died, and Castiel was certainly a bruise on Dean's heart that had never truly faded away. Dean let Castiel fill his mind, remembering the better times they had spent together, rather than the times that made Dean want to lock himself in his room and binge drink until he threw up and couldn't remember what he was so upset about in the first place.

On the third morning of Cas's stay, Dean found the old photograph that had been taken the night before Jo and Ellen's deaths. He had forgotten about it, but when he opened his nightstand to see if there was any cash laying around, he found the photo beneath his gun. He took the gun out and put it on the nightstand, withdrawing the photograph. There he was, his arms around Jo and Sam, with Ellen in the middle, Bobby in his wheelchair in front of Jo, and Castiel tucked under Sam's arm. None of them were smiling, but so it went. It hadn't been a happy time. Dean took a deep breath, gazing at the picture. All of them were dead, except for him and Sam, of course. When he looked at Castiel's dark, emotionless face staring back at him, Dean closed his eyes, praying that Cas was indeed in his tenant's body, waiting for Dean to find him.

There was a knock on the door. Dean was pulled from his reverie, and he stuffed the photo on his pocket as he said, "Come in."

The door opened, and there stood Cas, wearing a pair of Dean's jeans and one of his t-shirts. Dean figured he'd have to take Cas shopping for clothes eventually, but he liked the look of Cas in his clothes. It made him feel warm, for some odd reason. Cas entered the room, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Dean's nightstand. "Is that a gun?"

Dean cursed himself, turning around to grab the gun and slip it back into the nightstand. "It's Kansas," he said gruffly as an excuse. Cas just shrugged and sat on Dean's bed. When Dean turned around, Cas was staring at the floor, a small blush on his cheeks. Dean frowned, until he looked down. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Flushing, Dean strode over to his closet while Cas talked.

"So, I was thinking that maybe it'd be a good time to go to the police," Cas said as Dean tugged a shirt over his head. "I thought I might get my memory back within a few days, but seeing as that hasn't happened yet, I should probably file a report with the police."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, closing the closet door and walking back over to Cas. "That sounds like a good idea."

Cas nodded, watching Dean. Normally he'd be creeped out by someone watching him so intensely, but Dean was used to those eyes focusing on him for longer than the average stare. He knew he should be kicking himself (you don't know that it's really Cas!) but Dean just accepted it, deciding not to over think it.

Cas looked awkward when Dean met his eyes. Dean frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together, until Cas coughed. "I don't know where the police department is, you know, so…I was wondering if you'd give me a ride?"

"Of course, Cas," Dean said, even though he knew that reporting to the police wouldn't help in the slightest. He could at least humor the guy. Cas brightened visibly and stood, walking back towards the door.

"Thanks, Dean. I really appreciate it. All of this," Cas told him sincerely. Dean just nodded, not willing to get emotional over it. All Cas had to do was ask Dean for a ride and it made him nostalgic. All of the times he spent with Cas in the impala rose to his mind, but he ignored the memories. There would be plenty of time for reminiscing when Cas got his memory back.

The police department was downtown, not too far from the cafe where Dean and Cas had met only a few days previously. Dean hadn't made any sort of habit of going to the police department, but he had been there loads of times when he was younger. The drive was short and silent, Cas just sitting in the passenger seat of the truck and staring out of the window as if engrossed in a movie. Dean wanted to probe him more, to ask him questions in an attempt to help him get his memory back, but he couldn't find any words to say. So they didn't speak, not until they drove up to the police station and parked the car.

It only took them a few minutes to get some time with a police officer. They walked into an office, sitting down side by side on a bench as the police officer sat down across from them at a desk. Cas's leg brushed against Dean's and Dean inhaled sharply, drawing back a little. Even without his memory, Cas didn't understand personal space. Dean suppressed a smile as the surly police woman started jotting down their names.

"Dean Winchester and…?"

"He doesn't know his name," Dean explained, looking sideways at Cas. "He has amnesia."

The police officer looked up, unamused. "Sir, if this isn't a serious complaint-"

"Of course it's serious. You think I'd come down here for fun?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed. Cas shifted uncomfortably next to him.

"It's okay, Dean, just let it go-"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean said brusquely, ignoring the man next to him. The police officer raised an eyebrow.

"I thought he didn't have a name," she said, crossing her arms. Dean scowled.

"It's not his real name," Dean told her impatiently; he was already sick of her. She just rolled her eyes and looked back down at her clipboard.

"Okay, John Doe then. How did you two meet?"

_He gripped me tight and raised me from perdition,_ Dean thought immediately, but no, he couldn't tell her that. Dean glanced at Cas. "He came to the Lawrence Cafe four days ago. He woke up on the side of the road earlier and didn't know who he was, and then he fainted, so I took him home."

The police officer gave Dean a hard look. "Mr. Winchester, do you make a habit of bringing home strange men who don't know who they are?"

She didn't look like she was joking. She thought he had some serious problem. Dean snapped, gritting his teeth. "Look, lady, I don't know what stick you've got up your ass but I'm sure there are plenty of other police officers who will help us out, so if you don't mind…"

She looked like she was going to smack him, but the police woman ignored his statement. She instead looked at Cas, who was still squirming. "How long have you been awake?"

"About four days."

"And you have no recollection of anything prior to meeting Mr. Winchester?"

Cas looked at Dean and shook his head. The police woman leaned back, writing something down on the clipboard. "Did you have anything on you when you woke up? A wallet, perhaps, or a cell phone?"

"No," Cas said, looking back to her. "Just my clothes. They were in disrepair."

"Were you injured?"

"No."

The woman clucked her tongue. "This is a very odd story," she said. When Dean opened his mouth to retort, she held up a hand. "I'm not saying I don't believe him, Mr. Winchester. But it's very rare for someone to wake up on the side of the road uninjured, without a scrap of identification on them and with no memory of anything."

This time, it was Cas who replied. "That's why I'm desperate for any help the police department can give me," Cas said, looking at her earnestly. "If there's someone out there looking for me, I want to be found."

Dean felt a sour twinge in his gut that felt like jealousy. He didn't know why he was jealous; it wasn't like Cas actually had anyone looking for him (or he hoped). Still, he felt bad that Cas had his hopes up that someone was searching for him. The sooner Cas got his memory back, the better.

The police woman sighed. She dropped her pen and folded her hands. "Well, I will file the report and get it prioritized, but until then, you should stay in Lawrence. Do you have somewhere to live?"

"Yes. I'm staying with Dean."

The police woman gave Dean a look, which he returned unwaveringly. She could judge all she wanted. Dean didn't give a fuck.

The police woman asked Cas various questions while Dean just sat back, his eyes flickering back and forth between her and Cas. Cas answered every question with the utmost seriousness, his eyes never leaving the police woman as he spoke to her. Dean watched him, a strange mixture of guilt and sympathy rising in him. It made Dean feel strange, so he avoided Cas's eyes when he eventually glanced over at Dean, his brow furrowed in concern.

The police woman stood, grabbing the clipboard. "I suggest you go to the local hospital and get yourself checked out. You might not think you've been injured, but you'll want a doctor's second opinion anyway. We'll be in touch once we have news," she told Cas. Cas nodded, and they followed her out of the office. She handed the clipboard to someone behind the front desk and bid them goodbye. Dean and Cas stepped out of the police station, hovering awkwardly beside the car. Cas was frowning, staring up at the sky as he leaned against the truck.

"What?" Dean asked, curious towards Cas's behavior. Cas sighed and shrugged.

"I don't know, I just…I guess I was hoping they would know who I was," Cas admitted, scratching his head. "I feel so empty, Dean. It's almost like I never existed, before I woke up and met you, I mean." Dean's stomach churned at his words. Back when Castiel used to help the Winchester brothers, Dean always forgot that Cas had a totally different life when he wasn't with them. Cas always seemed so much better off when he was with them that Dean never remembered that Cas wasn't theirs. He had belonged to the garrison, to God, no matter how much Dean wished Castiel would remain loyal to them. Seeing Cas right now, looking lost and absolutely helpless, Dean felt his determination rise. He wouldn't leave Cas alone. He'd stick with him until they got his memory back. He had to. Cas didn't have anyone else. He never did. Dean knew he had finally gotten the chance to show Cas what true family is made of.

Dean walked by Cas to get to the driver's seat, but not without clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Come on. I'll drop you off at the hospital."

"I have to go now?"

"No time better than the present," Dean replied, shrugging. Cas nodded, and once they were both in the car, Dean took off, driving down the street to get to the hospital. This time, Cas didn't remain silent. He turned towards Dean, peering at him as Dean drove.

"So who is Cas, anyway?"

_You,_ Dean thought. He glanced at Cas. "He was a, uh, friend of mine. Yeah."

"I figured as much," Cas replied, a little dryly. He looked away from Dean. "Do I really look like him?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said, chuckling a little. "You two could be twins."

"Wow," Cas said, intrigued. "When do I get to meet this long lost twin?"

Dean's smile faded. "He's dead," Dean said shortly, and the banter ended abruptly. Cas was staring at him, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted in that infuriating stare Dean had forgotten about. He ignored it, a knot forming in his gut. He didn't want to talk about this. It was too confusing, damn it. Dean wasn't equipped for all of the brain power he had been using in the past week. Sam was the one who figured out this shit, not him.

Dean stopped outside the hospital, giving Cas his number so he'd be able to call Dean when he was finished. Cas accepted it, quietly stepping out of the car. Before he shut the door, he turned back, looking at Dean full on, his blue eyes soft. "I'm sorry," he said, simple and vague. Dean didn't know what for. For being a nuisance, for his resemblance, for the betrayal and hurt Dean had felt ever since Cas admitted to working with Crowley all those years ago? Dean sighed. Of course, this Cas didn't know about any of that. He was probably just apologizing for bringing up Castiel.

"It's fine," Dean lied, waving a hand. "I'll see you later."

Cas nodded, giving Dean a soft look before going into the hospital. Dean drove away, ignoring the gnawing feeling clenched in his gut. This was getting to be too much. He had to do something to take his mind off of it, to forget about it just for a little while. Dean tried calling Sam again as he drove back home, but his brother didn't pick up. He tossed the phone angrily on the seat next to him, wrapping his fingers around the wheel tightly.

The Fusion was done, which meant Dean was going to have to call the owner to come pick it up tonight. As he did so, he checked out his next victim, a Mustang with a broken windshield. He assessed the damage, trying to fill his mind with cars and gizmos, but all he could think about was Cas. He found himself worried about the hospital visit and whether Cas was going to be alright or not. It drove him mad, not knowing what was wrong with Cas. He wished he had stayed at the hospital. His nerves were getting the best of him, and he didn't know why.

He was chipping away at the glass of the car, anxiously waiting for Cas to call him, when a shiny black Avalon pulled up, right in front of Dean's home. He frowned, looking at the car. It seemed alright. It wasn't making any weird sounds and didn't look beat up at all. _Must be an interior issue,_ Dean thought with dread. He was surprised when Cas stepped out from the passenger seat, leaning his head back in to thank the driver.

"Cas?" Dean called out, confused. Cas looked at him as he leaned back out of the car and shut the door.

"Hi, Dean. I was going to call you to pick me up, but Rodney here offered to give me a ride. He works at the hospital," he said innocently, gesturing to the car. Dean shot a look at the driver, who looked to be around his age. And handsome. Rodney got out of the car, flashing his pearly whites at Dean.

"Hope you don't mind. Poor guy looked lost enough, figured he needed someone to give him a break," Rodney said in an obnoxiously gooey voice. A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched. What a prick.

Dean ignored him, fixing Cas with a piercing gaze. "I told you that I would pick you up," he said bluntly. Dean didn't like Rodney, but he what he really didn't like was Cas accepting a ride from a total stranger. What if the guy had been a demon? Cas wouldn't know what to do. He'd be completely helpless. Dean bristled, unconsciously blocking Cas from Rodney as he came closer.

Cas's eyes were a little wider than normal, and they didn't leave Dean. He stared right back, his lips parting. "I didn't want to burden you," Cas said quietly, and Dean fought the urge to punch him.

"Damn it, Cas, it's not a burden. I only live a few minutes away. I _told_ you I would do it."

"Really," Rodney said, holding up a hand, "it's not a big deal-"

"Don't you have a job to get back to?" Dean snapped, looking over at doctor-I-have-whiter-teeth-than-you. "Or is your job carting around helpless sick people who can't defend themselves?"

"That's enough, Dean," Cas said sharply, and Dean felt Cas grip his arm and pull it towards him. His blue eyes were fierce, and Dean inhaled abruptly, taken aback by the familiarity of those intense, no-nonsense eyes. His heart started racing, and all he could feel was Cas's hand on his arm, clenched tightly. He watched him closely as Cas spoke to Rodney. "Thank you for the ride, Rodney. It was very much appreciated."

Rodney just nodded and scrambled off in his car. He seemed nervous. That made Dean happy. At least he had scared the guy off. Before he could gloat, Cas was in his vision again, looking very pissed off.

"What's the matter with you?" Cas asked hotly. Dean looked at him incredulously.

"With me? There's nothing wrong with me, man. I'm not the one accepting rides from random ass, skeevy doctors who clearly keep the whitening gel on for too long."

Cas closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm a grown man, Dean. I may not know who I am or where I'm from, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Is that what you really think of me? That I'm some helpless, defenseless child that can't take care of himself?"

Dean blinked. Cas was really upset. He ran his tongue over his lips, looking at the ground as he thought of what to say. "No, Cas, no. It's not like that. I was just…worried, you know? And I _told_ you I'd pick you up, I don't understand why you-"

"Maybe I thought getting a ride would be more convenient than having you drive the whole way!"

"'The whole way'? Dude, it's like, five miles. I could probably drive back and forth from here to there one hundred times in one day. Wanna try it out sometime?"

Cas rolled his eyes and took his hand off of Dean. Dean felt a pang of loss. "Regardless. I'm sorry if I offended you. But I agree with Rodney, this really is not a big deal."

Dean laughed humorlessly, throwing his hands up. "Of course you'd agree with Doctor Dental. I'd be surprised if he didn't brainwash you by deflecting the sun off of his teeth."

Cas leaned back, surveying Dean coolly. His eyes were narrowed, and he didn't seem too amused by Dean's joke. He sighed, leaving Dean's side to walk into the house. "Maybe I should find somewhere else to stay," he said, not looking at Dean. "My presence is clearly causing an issue here."

"Go stay with Dr. Rodney," Dean told him, his anger rising to a breaking point as he marched away from Cas to back to work on the car. "I'm more than sure he would be willing to let you stay with him."

Dean didn't see Cas's dejected eyes as he started working on the car, but he did hear the former angel's flat, emotionless tone as he turned his head back slightly. "You don't know me, Dean," he said softly. "You don't get the luxury to care."

Dean didn't think the windshield could have possibly broken any more than it already was, but he proved himself wrong once he shoved his gloved fist through it.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't see Cas the rest of the night. He had tried calling Sam again, hoping his brother could give him some advice, but Sam never answered. He remained outside, trying to repair the damage he had caused to the Mustang while Cas stayed indoors, doing only God knows what. Dean had been waiting for the moment that a cab would pull up to his house and Cas would be whisked away as if he had never been there. Dean had gone through all sorts of apology speeches in his head, each one getting more and more desperate as time went on. He couldn't let Cas leave, no matter how angry he was. And he was <em>very<em> angry.

Dean wasn't used to having to worry about Cas. Cas had always been the fighter, the angel soldier, the one with all of the powers and strength that Dean could never imagine having. Cas was the one who saved Dean. Sure, there were times where Cas hadn't been strong enough to save himself, and Dean had stepped in. But he had never actually worried about Cas's safety. Whatever happened, Cas always returned to them. He would always find some way to get back. Except for, of course, when he was killed by the Leviathan. But Dean was realizing that maybe this was his way of returning to him - and Dean couldn't very well let him leave.

The fact that Cas had so willingly accepted a ride from a complete stranger made Dean angry. He couldn't stop imagining what that douche bag Rodney could do to him. He could've been a demon. He could've been a werewolf, or a vampire, or a djinn or some other horrible beast Dean had encountered. He didn't trust anyone. Even Sam had become a vessel for Lucifer. Nobody could be trusted. Especially not overly friendly doctors with bright white teeth and a hidden agenda.

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face as he leaned against the Mustang. He had been working on it for the past five hours and he felt like he had accomplished nothing. He gave up, walking back to the house, his stomach a jumble of nerves. He had to talk to Cas. He couldn't let him leave, not without at least trying to get his memory back. He just couldn't.

Dean opened the front door. Cas was sitting on the couch in the living room, perusing a yellow pages. Dean swallowed, noticing a plastic bag at Cas's feet. There were no clothes in it, as Dean hadn't taken the time to get him any yet, but there were a few water bottles and a some crackers. Dean felt hollow. How could Cas think he'd just kick him out on the street?

"Cas," Dean spoke, leaning against the front door frame, his expression earnest. He was past all of his previous anger. He just wanted Cas to stay.

Cas looked up, but didn't really meet Dean's eyes. He said nothing, his fingers still sliding over the pages of the phone book. Dean took a deep breath. He could do this.

"Listen, I just wanted to…"

Dean broke off, interrupted by a loud growling sound coming from outside. His hunter instincts peaked. He glanced outside, spotting a car coming down the road and slowing near his house. He looked back at Cas rapidly. "Stay here," he warned, ignoring the concerned look on his face as Dean stepped outside.

The car stopped. It look vaguely familiar, but Dean couldn't place it. Then Thompson, the dick from the cafe earlier that week, got out of the car, and Dean knew what this was about.

"Winchester!" The idiot called out, swaggering a little. He was clearly drunk. He patted the hood of his car as he sauntered over to Dean with a grin. "You got some money for me, son?"

"Take a hike," Dean threatened, not willing to deal with the bum. He had interrupted his talk with Cas, damn it, and that was far more important.

Thompson shrugged, still swaying in his spot. "As you can see, I may be a little bit tipsy at the moment," Thompson said, chuckling, "but lucky for you, boy, I brought a few of my friends to help negotiate."

Dean heard the fist hit his head before he felt it. It made a loud, thick crack, and Dean was suddenly on the ground, seeing stars. He cursed himself for not being prepared as the pain radiated from the back of his head to his entered skull. Dean looked up, ready to knock the son of a bitch down, but another guy was in his way, and he kicked his leg out, his shoe hitting Dean square in the jaw. He felt the tip of the shoe cut into his face and he cried out, blood dripping from his jaw down his neck.

Thompson leaned down, grabbing Dean's lapel. "Now, about that money…"

"Go to hell you fucker," Dean spat, staring at him defiantly. Thompson smirked, but not before sinking his fist into Dean's stomach. Dean coughed, trying to catch his breath as the next guy swung something at his head. Dean couldn't tell if it was a fist or a foot, or even a metal rod. All he knew was that he was spitting blood out of his mouth and his entire body was throbbing. He tried to get up. He tried to fight back, but they had one upped him, and Dean's reflexes weren't what they used to be. He managed to grab some dirt off of the ground and throw it into one of the men's eyes, and he felt triumphant as the guy bellowed and stepped back. Thompson clicked his tongue.

"We could do this all night, Winchester," Thompson said, grabbing a fistful of Dean's hair and pulling him up. Dean felt his arms held up by the two guys, and Thompson socked him in the stomach again. Dean gasped, blood flying from his mouth. "I'm thinking I ought to give you a good punch for every dollar you owe me, eh?" Thompson snickered, punching Dean again. He tried to wrangle out of the men's grip, but it was to no avail.

"So that's two," Thompson said, rearing his fist back. "Still got a couple hundred to go. How long do you think you'll last?"

Dean watched the fist plummet into his stomach again. This time, he felt tears in his eyes from the pain, and he wasn't even strong enough to be embarrassed. All he could think about was hell, trying to convince himself that hell had been so much worse than this, and he had survived. This was nothing. This didn't hurt. This was okay.

"Stop."

Dean blinked, the tears falling out of his eyes as he glanced up at his house. There was Cas, standing at the door, his eyes wild and his expression mutinous. Dean would even be scared of him, if he wasn't in so much pain. Thompson took a step back from Dean. He smiled.

"You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend over, Winchester," Thompson said, raising his eyebrows. "Since our efforts are being wasted on you, why not try it on him?"

"No," Dean coughed out, panting, "Cas, go."

Thompson chortled, his cronies guffawing from behind Dean. "Yeah _Cas_…go."

Cas's face didn't change, but he raised his hand. Dean recognized the gun in his hand. It was the one in his nightstand, the one Cas had commented on only this morning.

Thompson wasn't looking to pleased now. He glanced nervously at his friends, and then back at Cas. He seemed to be trying to gain his confidence back.

"Why don't you put the gun down, fag? It's not like you even know how to use it."

Dean knew he was right. Old Cas could have fired a gun, but this Cas? He'd end up blowing his head off. Dean stared at him, trying to get him to stop. He didn't know what he'd do if Cas ended up shooting himself by accident. Dean struggled against his captors, fear blinding him.

The gun went off.

Dean could barely hear anything, other than his own heavy breathing. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, until he looked at Cas. Cas was standing, the gun still balanced in his hand, pointing at Thompson. Thompson yelped, but he hadn't been shot. The bullet flew right by his ear, flying off into the open fields of Kansas behind him. Dean could barely breathe. How could Cas fire that thing so precisely? It wasn't possible, not in the state of mind he was in.

Cas stepped forward, the gun still pointed directly at Thompson. Thompson had turned white, whiter than even Dr. Rodney's teeth. Cas didn't stop moving towards him until the gun rested against Thompson's forehead. He was almost trembling in anger, his face more murderous than Dean had ever seen it. And he had seen Cas plenty pissed off before.

"If you _ever_," Cas muttered darkly, pressing the gun further against Thompson's head, "come back here, I will kill you. If you ever talk to Dean, see him or _breathe_ the same air as him again, I will put a bullet in your head. Do you understand me?"

Thompson made a choking sound, but he nodded frantically. He waved a hand at his friends, and Dean was dropped on the ground. He tasted dirt, unable to lift his head as the men ran by him, going back to their car and screeching off. Dean could see Cas watching them leave the gun still hanging loosely in his hand. Once they were out of sight, Dean felt his stomach twinge. He moaned, squirming on the ground. Cas spun around, as if remembering that Dean was still there. His eyes met Dean's, and all of the fear that had been missing when he was contorting Thompson was on his face, etched in the lines of worry. "Dean," Cas murmured, the gun dropping to the ground as he hurried over to him.

Dean felt Cas turn him over onto his back and hoist him up. Dean couldn't imagine how Cas had so much strength in those puny arms of his, but he managed to get Dean in a sitting position, his side leaning against Cas's chest.

"Dean, you need to go to the hospital," Cas said urgently, his hands keeping Dean up.

"No," Dean argued, resting his head on Cas's shoulder, "just bring me in inside. I've been through a lot worse, I can handle it."

Cas was breathing hard, one of his cool hands gliding across Dean's face. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, "you probably have a broken rib, if not many."

"I'm just a little banged up," Dean assured him, though he knew Cas was probably right. But there was no reason to go. Dean had gotten beaten up by all sorts of supernatural creatures, and he hardly ever went to get medical help. He'd be fine. Besides, Dean couldn't go to the hospital. If he did, he knew Cas would leave. He'd find someone else to live with, someone who wasn't hospitalized or over protective about riding with strangers. Someone better.

Cas let out an exasperated groan and dropped Dean, not in a way that would have every bone in Dean's body aching, but enough to startle him. He was about to protest when Cas swung a leg over his body, effectively straddling him. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he watched Cas stare at his body.

"Uh, whatcha you doing there, Cas?"

"I'm checking the damage," Cas explained, giving Dean a quick look. "I need to see if you really are okay enough to go inside or if you're just being a hero."

"'m not a hero," Dean said, muffled as Cas put two fingers on his lips.

"Just, don't talk, please. Let me work." Dean had so many dirty comebacks for that, but the feel of Cas's fingers on his mouth distracted him. Dean could still feel the pain in almost every region of his upper body, but when Cas ran his hand over his shirt, they almost soothed. Dean felt his muscles relax as Cas observed him, sitting back and watching him with sharp blue eyes. Dean was about to ask him what he was doing, but then Cas lifted Dean's shirt, his fingers slipping underneath and brushing lightly at the skin.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore those hands as they slowly glided up his chest, feeling for bruises and broken bones. Dean knew Cas was doing this for purely medical purposes, but he couldn't help but feel his cock twitch as Cas accidentally slid over a nipple. It had been so long since someone touched him like that. Cas was staring at Dean's body, his eyes full of what looked like reverence as he sighed softly, withdrawing his hand from Dean's shirt. "I don't think you broke any ribs after all," Cas said, mellow.

"Mmm," Dean made a sound of agreement. Cas raised his hand to Dean's face, running his fingers over the slice on his jaw. Dean held his breath as Cas's eyes slid to his, and Cas let out a breath. Their eyes never left each other's as Dean's hand found it's way to Cas's hip. Cas straightened abruptly, pulling back.

"Alright, fine, you don't have to go to the hospital," Cas told him as he pretty much jumped off of Dean. Dean sat up, the pain finding it's way back to him. He groaned. Even though he wasn't bad enough to require medical help, Dean knew he'd be aching for the next week. When Cas wasn't looking, Dean adjusted himself, trying to will his half hard dick away. He couldn't believe he had gotten hard from that. It really had been a long time.

Cas was blushing (shit, did he notice?), but he offered Dean his hand to help him stand up. Dean took it, but he let go as soon as he was on his feet. His abs hurt more than anything, but he knew he'd have to patch up his face as soon as he got in the house. "Thanks, Cas. You know, for, uh…coming to my rescue."

"Anytime," Cas said almost solemnly. Dean nodded, taking a step towards the house, but his head became very light. He swayed a little, until Cas wrapped an arm around his waist. He was briefly reminded of the time Castiel had beaten him up in the alley way all those years ago. Cas helped Dean up the stairs, his touch not doing anything to help Dean's arousal. They made it to the bedroom, and Cas plopped him down on the bed. His face was still bleeding, and he asked Cas to get him a wet cloth so he could just clean it up. Once Cas returned, Dean grabbed the cloth and wiped away the blood. Cas watched him from the doorway, his eyes heavy.

Dean looked over at him. He could feel the tension in the room, despite their earlier escapades. Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said gruffly, scratching his head shamefully. "I was just kind of angry."

"I know," Cas replied, bowing his head. Dean looked at him, his eyes growing soft.

"I don't want you to go."

Cas looked up immediately, his eyes finding Dean's. They shared a long stare, and Dean had the sudden urge to run over to him and grip him tightly. His body was in no mood to put up with such desires, however, so he stayed put. Cas frowned, his eyes sad. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean," he promised quietly. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to say what I did."

Dean nodded, fatigue overpowering him. He wanted to sleep, but he still needed to talk to Cas. Wearily, he asked, "How the hell did you know how to use that gun?"

Cas just stared, his lips parting. He shrugged slightly, inhaling. "I don't really know," he admitted, looking at the nightstand. "It all happened so fast. I barely even thought, it was all just…instinctive."

Dean yawned, no longer caring about any of it. He was just too damn tired. He tried to say something, but Cas cut him off. "Go to sleep, Dean. We can talk about it in the morning."

Comforted by the fact that Cas would still be there when he woke up, Dean rested his head against the pillow, falling quickly into a dreamless sleep. He wasn't awake to see Cas near the bed and extend his hand, brushing Dean's hair back with his long fingers. He sighed. "I have no idea who you are, Dean Winchester," Cas whispered, tilting his head as he watched Dean sleep, "but I have a feeling that I would burn in hell for eternity as long as you were okay."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So did you hear that Castiel is apparently going to have amnesia when he returns in 7x17? Ha!


End file.
